In a move that has shocked armchair analysts and die-hard fans alike, the NFL has quietly introduced a new protocol mandating the cloning of prominent quarterbacks to ensure the league’s lucrative advertisment revenue continues to flow unimpeded by pesky injuries or contract disputes.
Leaked internal documents obtained by The Fraudulent Times reveal that the decision came after a committee of top league executives determined there was simply too much money at stake to rely on the current system of flesh-and-blood athletes. As NFL spokesperson Darrel Fumbler explained in a press briefing held in a dimly lit basement conference room, “Our data shows that fans don’t really care who throws the football, as long as the commercials featuring said player keep airing uninterrupted.”
The cloning process, spearheaded by a clandestine partnership between the NFL and BioThrow Inc., a shadowy biotech startup, will focus on crafting genetically perfect replicas of the league’s superstar quarterbacks. Early reports indicate that Tom Brady’s clone—dubbed Tom 2.0—has already outpaced his original in both touchdown passes and Instagram followers.
“We’ve entered a new era,” said Dr. Arlen Punterson, head scientist at BioThrow Inc. “Soon fans will be able to see classic face-offs between Marcia Manning and Dack Priscott 24 hours a day, perhaps during the game’s halftime or even during the game itself.”
NFL insiders say the initiative was fast-tracked following a landmark study that found 96% of viewers couldn’t distinguish between real athletes and their synthetic counterparts, especially during slow-motion replays. Furthermore, the study showed a thrilling 98% uptick in ad engagement whenever a cloned athlete appeared onscreen, leaving network executives in a state of euphoric disbelief.
In a closed-door session, a secretive consortium of broadcasting moguls and legal scholars put forth the notion that cloned players might, in fact, be consulted for rule changes, given their capability of calculating new passing strategies without the burden of consciousness. Mike Rigsby, an anonymous network executive present at the meeting, commented cryptically, “If a quarterback clone can get tackled on the field and still manage to mint a few NFTs on the sideline, who’s to say what defines a real player?”
Fans expressed mixed reactions. Gordon Barnes, a lifelong Seattle Sea Lions devotee, remarked from his cul-de-sac: “If it takes a DNA clone to make sure I can watch football without some dramatic human interest story slowing down the game, I’m all for it.”
As the project rolls forward, league officials are reportedly toying with the idea of expanding the program to other positions, with defensive linemen and wide receivers next on the list. But critics warn of potential glitches, as demonstrated by the brief incident where a cloned quarterback attempted an unscheduled jazz solo during the coin toss.
Only time will tell if the NFL’s futuristic gamble will pay off, but one thing is certain: as long as the screens continue to buzz with brilliantly staged commercials for noise-canceling earbuds and shock-absorbing athletic wear, the league’s clone overlords will rest easy, assured in their new status as sacred symbols of cultural continuity, programmed to score and sell with mechanical precision.
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